In Time
by BeautifulCrimsonChaos
Summary: Rylie, a budding chemist, has come to London to finish college. However, she did not expect to have a flat across that of the infamous Sherlock Holmes, beginning a friendship that will define them both. Shy and curious, will Rylie be able to help Sherlock when he needs her most? First book in the Glass Heart series. No romance, just friendship.
1. Chapter 1: Welcome To London

**Welcome to my first ever Sherlock fanfiction! I have to admit before we begin that I have a limited knowledge of this series, so my stories might not be the best for die-hard fans. I'm also pretty new to this fandom, so just give me some time to adjust. However, I do really appreciate all advice. Please review!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Rylie and Pippa.**

Laughing, Rylie Evansburg rushes ahead to her best friend Pippa, eager to be the first one to the train station. This is a bittersweet moment for both girls; they are leaving for different colleges. However, they have a little bit of time left, and they are determined to use that time to the fullest.

"Pip! We're late. Hurry up."

Pippa rounds the last corner of the dusty road that the two girls have run up so many times. In the distance, the small houses of Fenwick are outlined on the early morning sun. Rylie realises that this is probably the last time she will ever see her home for a year. Pippa, now standing next to her, grabs her best friend's hand.

"When we come back," she murmurs in a choked voice, "Nothing will have changed. Nothing ever changes in Fenwick, and for the first time in my life, I'm glad of that."

Rylie has nothing to offer but a slightly teary smile and a flip of her dirty blond hair. Pippa's dark skin hides her own tears, as does her vale of slightly wavy black hair.

~oOo~

The train ride from Fenwick to London is a long and uneventful one. Both girls are nearly dying of boredom by the time the train chugs to a stop at Grand Central.

"This is where we part, Pippa." Rylie says as she steps carefully down onto the platform, consious of the white jeans that she is wearing.

Pippa can only nod. The two girls rush to embrace each other one final time before taking cabs to their respective flats on different ends of London. And then they are gone.

~oOo~

Rylie arrives in her flat toting her giant hockey bag behind her. Being a tomboy of sorts, Rylie adores playing hockey. Her proficience on skates exceeds that of most of the boys in her class. She was not smiled upon for being a very good model to the younger students.

An overly enthusiastic woman by the name of Mrs. Hudson greets Rylie at the door, and it doesn't take three minutes before she is criticizing the seventeen-year-old's overuse of makeup around her eyes, and the dark leather bands on her wrists. However, Rylie is complimented on her scrunchie scarf and black jean jacket.

"Come right this way…"

Rylie is shown to a flat opposite a door from which a noise akin to very loud television is erupting.

"Who lives there? I am going to need their names before I go in a tell them to shut off the tellie."

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Mr. John Watson."

Rylie is bowled over by this news. Even in Fenwick, everyone knows about Sherlock Holmes. And now she is in the flat across from him. Her little sister Annabell would give anything to trade positions with her right now.

Mrs. Hudson is talking again.

"…if you want, I can go in and ask them to turn it off. I know people can be a little shy when they are just moving in…"

Rylie shakes her head. Hell, is she is going to be living next to Sherlock Holmes for the next year, she might as well get used to going in and telling him and Mr. Watson to turn off the tellie.

"I can go and tell them myself."

Mrs. Hudson nods shortly and turns away down the hallway. Rylie turns away from the ubiquitous door and enters her own tiny flat, pausin to deposite her hockey bag in the middle of the floor. However, she does not turn and go back outside afterwards. Not many people know this, but Rylie is extremely shy. She prefers to hang around in her room and perform chemical experiments (wanting to be a first-rate chemist when she grows up) than go about a socialize with her friends. Only Pippa understands her introverted tendencies, and Rylie loves her for it.

_Don't worry. They're just normal people, just like everyone else…_

Rylie approaches the door the way one might approach the scaffhold. Tentatively reaching up, she knocks quietly on the door.

It opens.

"Yes?" A middle-aged man on the older side of th middle opens the door. He has graying blond hair and is about middle height, with a slightly fierce expression on his face.

"Um, I was just wondering if you might be able to…turndownthetelevisionplease?" the last part comes out in a blurr as Rylie's fear of people leaps out.

"What?"

"Could…you please turn down the television please?"

The man smiles a very little bit.

"Who are you?"

"The tenant across the hall. My name's...Rylie Evansburg."

"John Watson." The man sticks out his hand and gives me a good hardy shake. "Come inside."

Rylie tentatively steps in, taking in the slightly messy flat, noting the skull on the mantelpiece. Yes. Good, interesting people live here. A head of curly brown hair is sitting and watching a show on chemistry, and the seventeen-year-old is instantly sucked in to the TV.

She doesn't notice that both Mr. Watson and the man with the curly brown hair are watching her with slight amusement.

**Yes, I understand that the characters might be slightly OOC. However, this story is not entirely based on the TV show, and it also has a little touch of how I imagined it before I saw the tv show.**

**PLEASE review!**


	2. Chapter 2: An Invitation

**Hello my readers! Unfortunately, I only have one following to report. However, I commend the wonderful Bumblebee's Guardian for following this story. Now I only have one question. Is this story good enough to continue, or shall I delete it and try something else? Personally, I found that it is pretty unique, and I haven't seen any other stories like this one. But it is up to my readers. What do you guys want?**

**Now, on with the story…**

"Rylie?" a sharp voice snaps the young girl out of her reverie about ammonium and ethanol.

"Oh, um, so, ya?" Why does she always daydream while meeting famous celebrities? Not like she's ever met any…

"I was wondering if you wanted a cup of tea?" the blond-grey haired man is staring intently at her.

"Oh, sure," Rylie pauses for a moment, embarrassed, "I want to be a chemist when I grow up. That's why I'm here, to learn more about it. Sorry for zoning out."

The curly brown hair twitches slightly, and slowly, a tall man unfolds himself (rather like a piece of origami gone backwards, Rylie thinks) from the sofa. Brilliant blue eyes, practically surged with an electrical charge of intelligence, scan her up and down.

"Potassium…" the voice is rich and strong, but slightly on the quiet end. Interesting first words…

"What about it?" Rylie asks, her voice almost giving out from shyness.

"You were doing an experiment with it this morning at approximately two-thirty. What were you doing awake?"

"How…do you know?"

"The colour of the stain suggests that the potassium is in the middle stages of air exposure."

"Oh. I couldn't sleep."

The eyes, which have started unnerving Rylie, turn slowly away as the figure stares contemplatively at the wall.

"I-I guess you're Mr. Holmes, then?"

"Yes."

"Um…my name is Rylie."

"I heard."

Rylie turns to Mr. Watson.

"W-Will it offend you if I go now? I need to do a lot of unpacking, and I want to spend tomorrow exploring London, so it would be wise to do it tonight. Uh, here's my number if you, m-maybe need anything?"

Rylie hands Mr. Watson a business card and turns and flees. _Stupid stupid stupid. _Why did she do the most irrational things when she was having, as Annabell called it, one of her people-phobia attacks?

~oOo~

The next morning, Rylie recieves a call from Pippa at eight.

"This place is freakin' awesome! Do you want to go shopping together today, or do you have other plans?"

"Ah…I don't really feel like shopping today, Pip. I'm really tired, so I think I'll just stay in my flat today. Do you want to come over for lunch, maybe? I saw a café near here called Prism, and it looks really cool."

"Sure! Bye."

Rylie hangs up and sighs. It's incredibly like Pippa to want to go shopping on the first day here. Her clothing-obsessed friend has proobably never even seen an Escada store before, being born in Fenwick, and, unlike Rylie, will be totally enthused by the fact that the prices are high. Pippa's family is fairly well off.

Just as Rylie is about to roll back over in bed, her phone rings again.

"_I got the eye of the tiger, higher, dancin' through the fire, 'cause I am the champion and you're gonna hear me RO-AR!"_

"Mffff."

Even Rylie, the world's most dedicated Katy Perry fan, can't deal with her songs at eight in the morning. The phone is answered with the words "go away".

"I assume that this is Rylie?"

"Whaddaya want?"

"I was wondering if you would like to accmonpany myself and my flatmate around London this morning. Last night you mentioned that you were going to see the city, and Sherlock and I would love to accompany you."

"God, man! It's eight in the morning! This is supposed to be my rest day. How about you come over and we can go together in, like, an hour?"

"Sure."

Rylie hangs up and slams her phone down on the receiver. Then, she drags herself out of bed, stuffed penguin and all, and heads to the shower.

~oOo~

Exactly forty-seven minutes later, Rylie is finishing up the dishes. Her hair is freshly washed, and she is wearing cute white jeans and a pale pink, slightly baggy, shirt. Her hair is still slightly damp, but overall, she looks great for someone so sleep-deprived (A/N: Stop feeling so sorry for yourself, Rylie. It's not my fault you didn't sleep well). Slipping her white leather purse over one shoulder and her white wedges onto her feet, Rylie is ready to go. She steps outside with some trepidation.

Sherlock and John are casually waiting for her in the hallway.

"You look nice, Rylie." John remarks.

Rylie almost faints, she is feeling so shy. However, when Sherlock nods slightly in agreement, she begins to feel a little bit more comfortable. When she feels welcome, her shyness dissipates by a tenfold.

"Where did you…er…want to go?" she asks awkwardly.

"Well, Sherlock has a case that he's working on down in the east end. The Purple Trousers, I do believe?"

Rylie looks around, extremely confused.

"Would you stop giving all the cases I work on such bizarre and unecessary names, John?"

Now, Rylie grins a little bit at Sherlock. Her sister, Annabell, is just the same way. She always gives Rylie's chemical experiments the strangest names on the face of the earth. Things like "Chiken Souflée Acid" and "Jello Peroxide".

But now Annabell would be jealous to death of her older sister.

**Yes I know, not the most exciting chapter on the face of the earth. But it was necessary in order to develop Rylie, Pippa, Sherlock and John a little bit chapter is where the excitement starts. Trust me, you want to read it. It's very exciting and action-packed.**

**PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!**

**BeautifulCrimsonChaos**


	3. Chapter 3: Kidnapped

**Hello again! I am very pround to announce that I have one reviewer this chapter! You made me so happy I wanted to cry. But that would be a bit unwarranted, don't you think? However, I encourage you to follow aandm20's good example and please review for me.**

**Aandm20: I am really glad that you see potential in my story. There aren't really any OC stories in this fandom, so I figured why not. It's great that you're enjoying it, and I hope you like this chapter, too. Thank you!**

**I would also like to thank aandm20 for following. It means the world to me.**

**Now, on with the story. There is lots of mysterious-ness later on in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it more than the last two character-development-boring chapters. And if you liked them, too, then good on ya!**

Rylie is thoroughly creeped out.

"Where is this place? It looks like someone combined Lord of the Rings and Taken into one giant, creepy mess."

"This is the murder scene."

"Oh. Well, the location certainly suits, doesn't it?" Rylie mutters under her breath. Yes, she's definitely had her fill of London.

"It does."

Sherlock turns back to his work, and Rylie rolls her eyes at John. Apparently he feels her pain, because he smiles a little bit. Not for the first time, Rylie wonders how John has managed to remain sane over the past few years…

There is suddenly an echoing noise from deep within the musty alleyway. The three companions freeze in their tracks, listening. Sherlock steps slowly away from the scene, as though afraid that so much as a sneeze on the evidence could provoke attack.

"Back up," he murmurs almost imperceptibly, "You need to get out of here."

John takes Rylie's hand and slowly backs down the alley, towards their car. Sherlock doesn't move a muscle.

"What about you?" Rylie asks rather loudly, "You can't think you can just stand there and take it. I think you have made it pretty clear that whatever is lurking down there is dangerous, and then you expect us to just back off? Are you mad?"

"Yes." John mutters under his breath,'

"Look, I've only known you for two hours, but you're not like anyone I've ever met. I don't feel claustrophobic around you. There's something special here, something that I can't identify. But it drives me to stay with you through hell or high water, and I bloody well will!"

Rylie wrenches her hand out of John's. What the heck is she thinking? She has never, ever dared speak up like this before. And now she just blurts out everything to a man she barely knows? What has happened?

"Rylie…" John calls warningly.

And then they al freeze. A dark figure has slipped down a set of staires partly concealed by steam. It now creeps slowly up the alley, like a tiger stalking it's prey.

"Who is that…"

Sherlock spins around one split second too late, and the dark figure pounces on him with strange agility. Very soon, the two of them are enveloped in the stranger's dark cloak; nothing but a black writhing mass.

And then the writhing stops. Both Rylie and John, petrified, stare as one figure rises. It is the faceless stranger.

"No!"

Rylie takes a step forwards, only to be caught on the arm by John.

"Rylie, please, he told us to stay back. Stop struggling!"

Rylie kicks and bites and scratches for all she is worth as John drags her back to the car. He is in a strange daze, knowing only that he needs to call 911 now. The stranger absconded with his best friend only moments after the writhing stopped. John knew better than to pursue. The stranger would be far away by now.

He dumps Rylie unceremoniously in the back seat. In a daze, Rylie pulls her phone out of her pocket.

"I'll call 911." She states flatly. But there is another text on her phone, with no number attached to it. It reads:

_If you really do want him back, you are folley. Nothing but deceit and lies are in his heart. It is better the way it is now. However, if you really feel the need to rescue him, go to the Prism Café tonight at seven. Come alone and meet me in the restroom at the back. Make sure that no one follows you. If anyone tries to come with you or protect you, they will be killed. I am waiting, Rylie Evansburg._

_~Silhouette_

"John." Rylie's voice is shaking, "You need to read this."

"Oh my God, Rylie. You can't actually be considering that you might go to this? There has to be a better way to get him back."

"There isn't."

"Then I'll go. He is my best friend, not yours."

"The test message says specifically Rylie. And beside, if you care so much about him, why aren't you our there looking for him?"

"Because there are better ways to approach things that brute force."

"How can you be so calm? Your friend ahs just been abducted by a faceless stranger and you're not even making an effort to look upset! What the heck if your problem?" Rylie's voice rises to a strangled shriek on the last note.

"This has happened before. He'll be OK. You don't know what you're saying."

"I do know what I'm saying. I only have three friends. Ever. In the entire world. So stop telling what to think and what to do. This text message is for me and if you try to follow me you'll be killed. Don't be a fool. And at least try to pretend that you're worried. It almost makes you looks suspicious."

John lurches to a stop, and Rylie nonchallantly opens the door.

"You should consider yourself lucky. I don't even talk to most people, let alone yell at them. But you deserved it."

And then she slams the door, tears streaming down her face, and runs off down the street in the general direction of the Prism Café.

Rylie's POV

What has happened to me? I barely even knew Sherlock and John this morning, and now I'm getting all defensive? What happened to my normal shy nature? It's like my friend-for-barely-one-day is kidnapped and my whole personality decides to go suicidal.

My feet pound against the sidewalk in a monotonous rythym. On some deep subconcious level, running really helps me think.

I am going to find Sherlock. In those few hours we knew each other, it was like we could communicate on some subconcious level. He would look at me, and I would know what he was thinking. A simple hand gesture and I would understand what he meant. I've never heard of anyone being able to do that before. But it felt almost good to have someone who could see right into my sould without judging me. I think that we sealed the deal to our friendship in that short car-ride. Why is it that everyone who can understand me is taken from me? I don't mean to tragedise my life or anything, bu sometimes I feel like everything just came crashing down. Like when my twin brother, Luke, died. We were eight at the time. I didn't think I could find the courage to go one. Luke and I could communicate just by thinking things. It was like telepathy. And then he died suddenly, for no understandable reason. Now, someone else who can read me like Luke could has walked into my life, and I was able to get over my shyness for the first time since Luke's death. And then he leave me almost as soon as I met him.

BANG.

Without realising it, I have walked straight into a boy about my age. Flushing, I take a nervous step back. We are just outside the Prism Café.

"Sorry." I whisper.

"Hey, no problem. Can I get you something to drink?" the boy grins happily at me, and I guess that he is already a little bit eniebriated.

"No thank you." I say in the same near-silent voice.

"Can you even talk?"

"Yes."

"Well, here's my phone number. You're pretty good looking. Give me a ring sometime, huh?"

A crumpled piece of paper is shoved into my hand and the boy bounces off down the sidewalk. I promptly throw the paper on the sidewalk and march into the Prism. I have something I need to do. However, as I slip towards the restroom, a hand shoots out of nowhere and covers my mouth before I can even scream.

"Did you really think I was gonna give him to you?" a dark voice mutters.

**I'm extremely evil, I know. But I couldn't resist leaving a cliffhanger. It's my speciality and hopefully it will inspire some will in you guys to review. PLEASE?**

**Thank you so much for reading and have a good evening!**


	4. Chapter 4: Thoughts On Time

**I am so happy about all the follows I received! A special thank-you, however, must go out to aandm20, because she very articulately told me how I could improve the last chapter without flaming me. Thank you so much! Now, on to a response to a review…**

**Aandm20: I do not take constructive criticsm as a flame! Flamers are people who don't even bother to read your story before they review and go on and on about how bad everything is. You were just trying to help me out, and I totally see your point. I also do recognize that everything was a bit too fast paced. A little bit of that fast-paced-ness was done for a reason. I wanted to show how confused Rylie was by her own actions, so I made everything really fast and intense. I was almost trying to convey emtions through description. However, not all of it was meant to be that way. Only the parts where Rylie is thinking to herself. I will go back and fiz my grammar errors and possibly try to tone it down a little. Thanks for the heads-up!**

**And now, I am pleased to present the next chapter to you all! As a favour to aandm20, this chapter is totally toned-down and only follows Rylie's thoughts as she is dumped in the back of a truck to be taken off to God-knows-where. No real action, because she's been hit over the head and isn't really concious.**

Pearly blackness envelopes Rylie as the unseen stranger (or is there more than one?) whacks her over the back of the head. However, she is not plunged into the icy depths of total unconciousness. Some tiny part of her mind is still fighting. The only problem is, that small part of her mind is confused and disoriented.

_Luke…Luke was kidnapped? No! It's your friend, Sherlock. But weren't you just thinking about Luke? Maybe he has something to do with this, too. But Luke is dead. He's been dead for nine years. This is wishful thinking, Rylie. _

A sudden, painful jolt causes Rylie to whimper slightly in pain. They are driving away from the Prism Café, she realises.

_John was right. You should have just dialled 999 and not followed the advice to a text message. You are an incredible imbecile, you know that?...But…Sherlock needs my help and I don't have many friends. I can't afford to lose him like I lost Luke. You're doing the right thing, Rylie, just under the wrong circumstances. But circumstances are everything, aren't they? Timing. Confusion. That's how criminals work…_

_Timing…_

_That's it! It was the timing that got Sherlock kidnapped! I bet anything that the kidnapper was just waiting, waiting. And he even hinted at it in his text message. _Timing os of the essence. _All I need to do to get Sherlock back is to solve that riddle that was hidden in the text message. But how?_

Rylie turns over and groans at the effort. A harsh voice snaps suddenly at her from the shadows.

"Shut up!"

A harsh slap drowns Rylie in pain and flashing lights. It's going to be a long, long night.

**This was very short, but it was also very intense. Rylie is in the middle of solving this puzzle, and the puzzle is very confusing, so I understand if this chapter didn't make total sense. Basically, Rylie is thinking nonsense to herself and suddenly realises that there is a connection between time and Sherlock's kindapping. The criminal hinted at it in the text message he sent her last chapter. But then she gets knocked out before the riddle is solved.**

**I'm sorry of this was confusing. This isn't one of my best stories. PLEASE! REVIEW! I BEG OF YOU!**

**BeautifulCrimsonChaos**

**P.S. I have changed this story's name…AGAIN. It is now called In Time.**


	5. Chapter 5: Past Or Present?

**Hello everyone! I'm really sorry I haven't been on FanFiction for a while, but I just started at an arts school (I had to change countries to go), so obviously I've been really busy setting up my flat and doing the dumpsters full of homework they provide us with on a regular basis. So once again, I'm really sorry about the long wait.**

**Aandm20: I'm glad you found my last chapter believable. I was sort of worried because writing thought process is really hard for me. And the next time I have a chance, I will go back and fix the spelling error in chapter three. I did for chapter two, did you notice? And yes, I saw what you meant about a dyslexic moment there. Of course, I am dyslexic, so that's probably a big contender in why…**** Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**SkatingThroughMistsOfTime: Glad you enjoyed, please PM me what you think of the next chapter and any mistakes I may have made. Thanks so much!**

**One with the story, now. This chapter doesn't have much to do with the puzzle, more with Rylie's dead brother, Luke. He plays a significant role in this story, so you will want to read this chapter, it's essential.**

When Rylie wakes up, she is lying on a cold floor. A shaft of light streams in through a grimy little windowpane in a small door. Above her, the ceiling can't be more than a meter and a half off the ground. Rylie feels instant claustrophobia. And promptly passes out again.

~oOo~

When she wakes, there is a semblance of her musings the night before in her mind. Something about time….

Ah! Yes. The text message that said time was of the essence. But Rylie still didn't understand that. However, the word time rang a bell in her head. She just couldn't quite place it. But it must be extremely important.

"Wait," she murmurs almost imperceptably, "Time was Luke's middle name. I always thought it was so strange that my parents named him that. But the word time in the text message can't be referring to Luke. He has been dead for so long. This is the most logical explanation, though."

She rolls over miserably. It seems that by discovering the hidden word in the message, she has only complicated things for herself and her friends. She falls asleep once again, dreaming the dreams of the damned.

~oOo~

The light flickers slightly in the hallway, as though a shadow passed in front of it.

Rylie scrambles desperately to cringe in the furthest corner of her cell, smashing her head on the ceiling as she does so.

The door opens.

A man pokes his head inside, his leering face accented by the blue industrial light flickering behind him. It is a ghastly visual.

"Come out. Someone wants to see you."

"W-who?" All of Rylie's old shyness and fear of people comes tumbling back.

"I believe he is your friend."

_It must be Sherlock._

"Do you know his name?" she asks, testing what she can say.

"No. I want you to tell me that."

Fear surges up from the pit of Rylie's stomach, shooting through her throat and up into her mouth. She lets out a little squeak.

"Ah, so you know, then."

"I d-don't know what you're t-talking about. But I d-do want to k-know something from you. M-Many years ago, you killed a boy, a boy named Luke Evansburg, did you not?"

Rylie is gaining confidence.

The man takes a startled step backwards and bangs his head on the low ceiling. This is followed by a stream of profanity.

"L-Luke?"

"Yes."

"We did kill a boy named Luke."

The man is giving this information away too easily. Something isn't right.

"And in a text message you sent me yesterday, after the abduction of my unnamed friend, you mentioned his middle name. This clearly states that you know a lot more about him than you are letting on."

The man leers even bigger.

"Of course I know him. I am Luke Evansburg's uncle. And you, I believe, are his pretty little sister, who was the real target all those years ago."

Rylie is bowled over by the shock. She never knew she had any uncles, or any realtives other than her grandparents. But what can this uncle mean, telling her that she was "the real target"?

"Tell me everything," she whispers, voice quavering.

"Of course. All of the details must go to Luke Evansburg's sister. But we can't talk in here."

Rylie cocks her head.

"I'm going to make a deal with you, Rylie. If you tell me that mysterious man's name, I'll tell you why your brother died that night. Do we have a pact?"

No…But Rylie must know why her own twin brother died. But at the cost of releasing Sherlock's identity to this thug? What is more important, the past or the present? Living or dead?

And in that instant, Rylie realises who means more to her. Her brother is gone, away, never to return. Bet Sherlock and John are here and now. These are living peoples' lives.

"No." she says, voice no longer containing even an ounce of the fear that once shook it, " We do not have a deal. I refuse to help you hurt someone else just so I can know why my brother died. These people are here and now, and my brother is in the past. Nothing you can say or do will convince me to agree."

The man's disgusting face turns into a scowl and he stalks out, leaving me, once again, to be shocked by the words that came from my own mouth.

Somewhere, deep in the industrially lit hall, there is a strangled moan.

**Ah, I love a good cliffhanger. Don't you? Well, in any case, I hope I didn't give you, as aandm20 put it, reader's whiplash. And I apologise if this chapter was a bit too much. I was going to end it with the random kidnapper dude being Luke's uncle, but then I reread it and realised just how much that sounded like a Star Wars ending. Even the name. However, it wasn't intended to be in any way like Star Wars, so I continued.**

**I would adore if you reviewed for me. And I would probably thank you until your ears hurt. So please do!**

**Thank you so very much again for all the encouragment and support!**

**BeautifulCrimsonChaos**


	6. Chapter 6: Lost & Found

**Hello everyone! I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, but school has really been getting me down. I've had a lot of homework, and hardly a second to spare to get on here. And then my tablet fell off the table and got smashed, so I'm writing this on my sister Alexandra's laptop. And she isn't very genrous with her lending of possetions, so I'm going to have to squeeze in as many updates as I can tonight. It's going to be rapid-fire!**

**Aandm20: Thanks, I'm glad that you've recovered from your probably rather severe case of reader's whiplash! I must say that I got it too. This chapter is {hopefully} a little longer, but since I actually originally wrote it on my iPod, it's hard to say how it will look on the computor. Please enjoy my rapid-fire updates!**

**To everyone else who is reading this, please review. It means the world to me to see what you think of my first Sherlock story. This is going to turn into a series, so ya…**

**P.S. This story was written under the influence of Britney Spears.**

**Now, the part you've all been waiting for…**

**CHAPTER VIII**

Sherlock Holmes had never, in his entire life, felt this combination of emotions and physical feelings. Never. Ever. Ever. His hands shook even thought he couldn't move them. His hair clung to his forehead and hung there, damp and lank. And he hurt. Every inch of his body was consumed in fiery pain for reasons he could no longer remember. Sherlock was also worried. Not frightened. Just worried. The men who had come to see him had told him that Rylie was here and she would suffer if he didn't cooperate. Cliché.

Sherlock assumed he had been here about three days since his capture. He had been listening to someone's alarm clock, which, according to the stream of profanity that accompanied the ringing, appeared to go off every morning.

He rolled over on the hard ground, his entire body spasming as he moved. John was going to be extremely ticked…

A slight creak brought Sherlock back to here and now. By the weight of the footstep he knew it wasn't his captors. But who else was there in this god-forsaken place?

Suddenly, the door handle turned and a willowy figure slipped inside, shutting the door lightly behind her. At first, Sherlock didn't recognise her. And then her face clicked.

"Rylie?" he hated the sound of his own voice, weak and shaky.

"Yeah."

Her oval face is dirty and scratched, and her jeans and top are ripped to shreds. Her hair is lank and grimy, pas any recognisable colour other than perhaps murky brown.

She slings his unbroken arm over her shoulder and slips nervouly outside.

"It's nighttime," she whispers, "So no one should see us. But we still have to be careful. I don't know what's beyond this hallway."

"You…got the key to your cell by putting paper…under…the door and then pushing the key out of the hole on to the paper and pulling the paper back under…But more than once?"

"This is only the second time. And how did you know how I got the key out?"

"Your braces appear to have been ripped…off your teeth, and you were holding them in a greasy palm when you came in. Obviously your hand had been in the lock. You also have a slight paper cut on your left hand because you ripped…a page out of a book."

Rylie slushes slightly at her own stupidity. Why had she even bothere asking how Sherlock knew? According to what she had heard, he _always_ knew.

"Apparently the two men, one of which I presume is related to you, wanted to stop me from discovering that they were responsible for the Kaleea Denali murder, among countless others. Or at least they intended to keep me from making it public. They intended to torture me into submission before setting me free."

"Setting you free?"

"I could have proved very useful in eradicating some of their main criminal enemies."

"Ah."

"Did they hurt you? After I saw the text message the men sent to you, I became slightly anxious for your wellbeing."

"You know about the text message?"

"I noticed one of my captors texting the number you gave us when they were pushing me into their car."

"I'm fine. You're not."

"I only have a few scratches."

"I'm not blind, Sherlock. You're really pale, you're shivering and sweating at the same time and your arm and leg are broken."

"There is no response, and Rylie is almost bowled over as the full weight of the 6-foot detective crashes down on her as he passes out.

"Oh, shit."

Rylie grabs the key to Sherlock's cell and locks it. Then she runs down the hall to the dingy little room where she knows their cellphones and other personal items are kept. Upon reaching her destination, Rylie grabs her Samsung and Sherlock's BlackBerry before slipping, wraith-like, off to a distant soeck of light; an open window.

**Since I am updating more than once this evening, I decided to split up the one giant chapter I wrote into a few littler ones. I hope you guys don't mind.**

**Please review, and thank you very much for reading and enjoying.**

**~BeautifulCrimsonChaos**


	7. Chapter 7: Ambushed

**And here it is, the next chapter, almost instants after the first one! You guys all ought to be proud of me for keeping on updating even though my dyslexic mind is really, really sleepy and I'm craving bacon.**

**Dumdumdum…**

**CHAPTER VI**

After much gasping and falling and slipping, Rylie makes her way to the roof of what appears to be a normal industrial building. A perfect place to carry on suspicious activity.

Now she opens up Sherlock's phone. Much to her surprise, there is no passcode. Opening up his contacts, she finds John's number without too much difficulty. Now, she dials the number on her own phone.

"Hello?" John's voice sounds tired. _He must have been up looking for us all of the last few nights. Poor John._

"It's Rylie."

"My God! Where the hell are you?"

"I'm at Owen & Sons Manufacturing Warehouse. I need you to call an ambulance. Sherlock and I will be waiting. Please hurry."

"Is he hurt?"

"Yeah."

"I figured. How bad?"

"Fever. Broken leg and arm. More bruises than possibly count. And he isn't breathing right. Maybe a broken rib or two?"

"Three broken ribs. Maybe I fractured my wrist. And a hellish headache."

"I'm on my way."

"Thank you."

Rylie hangs up and stuffs both phones into her almost non-existant back pocket. Then she slips back down throught the window, landing with a gruesome crunch on her ankle. Probably sprained it.

Limping her way back up the creepily illuminated hall, Rylie comes before Sherlock's cell. Slipping the key from her pocket, she unlocks the door and half drags, half carries the unconcious detective back up the hall. She has no idea where the formal entrance is, save that it is on the east side of the building. Jogging lamely in the general eastern directing, according to her phone compass, she can only hope.

{~oOo~}

The night air is cool and breezy, a welcome feeling to Rylie's parched and dirty face. Above, the stars glimmer coldly in the inky sky.

Slumping in exhaustion, Rylie lowers Sherlock to the ground as gently as she possibly can, and then collapses next to him. Her ankle is wreathed in fiery pain, and her breath comes in sharp gasps. In the distance, a siren sounds. Rylie can only hope it is for them.

She is so preoccupied and exhausted that she doesn't notice the man standing behind her until her grabs her by the collar.

**A cliffie, except not really. Because I'm going to be posting the next chapter, in, like, half an hour. So hang in there. Pretty soon everything will be on the mend.**

**Please review!**

**BeautifulCrimsonChaos**


	8. Chapter 8: Exhausted Adrenaline

**This is probably the last chapter I will be posting tonight, so please enjoy. I do, however, have more chapters written, so my updates won't take too terribly long. You can probably expect the next chapter by tomorrow evening (my time).**

**CHAPTER VII**

It is Rylie's uncle, the leering man. He shakes his neice until she lets out a soft, almost imperceptible, scream.

"You didn't think I'd let you go before you did what I wanted, did you?"

"What…do you want me…to do?" Rylie gasps.

"Hand over your friend there. I'm a fair man, Rylie. If you hold up your part of the bargain, I'll hold up mine. Give him over, and I'll tell you the truth about the night your brother died."

"I never agreed to your bargain."

Rylie lashes out and kicks her uncle in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Then she pries his fingers off her shirt collar and kicks him again.

"You're no relative of mine," she hisses poisonously, "You're a murderer. Get out of my life."

Then, she cuffs him in the temple, knocking him out. Inside, Rylie thanks her father for telling her that she was so painfully shy, someone was going to mistake her shyness for rudeness. So he signed her up for self-defence classes, and Rylie excelled at them.

After having knocked her uncle out, Rylie sinks back against the hard brick wall and passes out. Cold.

**Goodnight! I hope you enjoyed my story, and please can you review. I'm not sure if this is too much of a hurt/comfort fest. However, if it is, never fear, it's going to turn into a friendship flufffest soon. PLEASE WITH A CHERRY ON TOP, REVIEW? **_***Sniffles cutely and gives puppy dog eyes*.**_

**~BeautifulCrimsonChaos**


	9. Chapter 9: An Invitation

**I apologise from the deepest ramparts of my soul about now being able to post last night. I totally forgot I had piano lessons, so I didn't have time. But I did manage to get another chapter written while I was in bed last night. So now there are officially 10 chapters! Let's all give me a round of applause. ;) Unfortunately, there were no reviews for the last chapter. Let's try to boost that number a little bit this chapter, please?**

**Love you all,**

**BeautifulCrimsonChaos**

Rylie wakes up briefly to see John speaking desperately to her. His face is distorted and small in her injured eyes. But she can tell he is worried.

"I'm...OK," Rylie mutters, trying to tell him to fizz off. Then she passes out again.

{~oOo~}

Bright lights. Everywhere. She can see them even with her eyes closed. Rylie knows this atmosphere well; she spent so much time here when she was a little girl. No one could figure out why she bled internally almost constantly. Some people thought it was part of her allergy to lactose. But eventually it stopped on its own and Rylie's visits to the hospital became less frequent.

"Mmmmh," Rylie groans.

"You're awake. Can you please be a good girl and open your eyes for me, honey?"

"Fizz off."

"Just open your beautiful eyes, OK?"

"Fine, if you promise to leave me alone."

"Whatever makes you comfortable, deary," the nurse cooed in a patronizing tone.

Rylie opened her shining blue eyes, slightly hazed over with exhaustion and sickness.

"You had quite a scare, didn't you, honey?" the nurse is a middle aged lady with wiry blond hair, horsey teeth and a rigidly straight back.

"Sorry for being rude, but could you please just leave me alone to my thoughts?" and then Rylie remembers something, "Sherlock! Where is he?"

The nurse's horsey face sobers up.

"He's not well, dearest. Really quite ill, if I may say so myself."

"I want to see him."

"Oh, lovely, you can't. Like I said, he's really ill and only his family and Mr. Watson are allowed to see him."

"Then I want to see Mr. Watson. Please?" Rylie opens her eyes as wide as she possibly can, and it has the desired effect upon the nurse.

"Oh, all right." And she bustles out.

Rylie lets out a low, whistling sigh and leans back against her slightly hard pillows. Her ankle doesn't hurt quite as much as before, but her chest is on fire, and her wrist is throbbing dully underneath it's bandaging.

John marches in and plops down exhaustedly in a chair. There are dark rings under his eyes and he looks like he has aged five years.

"How's Sherlock?"

"He'll pull through," John mutters grimly, "He's seen worse. But Rylie, what the hell were you thinking going into that cafe? You almost got yourself killed!"

"If I hadn't, Sherlock probably would have died."

"Prove that to me." John stands up and starts pacing angrily back and forth in the tiny room.

"I'm related to Sherlock's kidnapper. I used my family ties to buy us both a little bit more time. The time I needed to figure out how to escape."

John nods slowly and then murmurs;

"Thank you, Rylie. Not only did you save Sherlock's life, you've given him a chance at a friendship. And I think he needs and deep down, wants that. What do you say to moving into our flat?"

Rylie's face lights up like someone hit a switch in her temple.

"Thank you," she whispers, not able to convey the amount of joy she is feeling in words. Finally, she has some friends. And not friends like Pippa, who understood her but just nattered on and on about herself. No, real friends. And good people. People who kept severed heads in their fridges were the kinds of people Rylie wanted to be friends with.

"I'll let you know as soon as you can visit him," John smiles again and Rylie grins back, waving shyly.

"See you soon," she grins at him.

{~oOo~}

After John has left, Rylie allows herself a small cheer of victory. Finally, someone has accepted her. And she can leave Pippa's on-and-off, self-centered friendship behind her once and for all.

"Thank you," she murmurs again, almost inaudibly.

**Yes, I know that was complete fluff at the end. And you guys probably didn't realise what Pippa was really like based on the description I gave at the beginning. Even though Pippa gets Rylie and understands she is different, she only really, truly cares about herself. So the understanding part doesn't really help in her friendship with Rylie. The only reason she has stayed Rylie's friend for so long is because there aren't many other people to turn to in a small village like Fenwick. So that's what I'm talking about.**

**Please review. I am posting a collection of short stories to accompany this longer one. Please, it would be nice if you read them, they are called Shattered Short Stories (Shattered is the name of this series).**

**Thanks.**

**BCC**


	10. Chapter 10: The Only Thing Missing

**Hello everyone! Sorry I haven't updated again for a very long time, but life has been getting in my way. I am actually graduating from acting school this year (my dream is to someday work with Benedict Cumberbatch), and I have been working incredibly hard. Once again, I'm really sorry about my lapse.**

**Rycbar15: Thank you so much! It sounded like you were a little bit doubtful at the beginning, and then warmed up to my story. I'm really glad that it struck an inner chord for you. This chapter there is a little bit of a conversation between Sherlock and Rylie, so I hope you will enjoy it. I am also doing a collection of short stories that involve Rylie, John and Sherlock, and their life together. I will probably be posting it sometime this week, so feel free to check it out. Thanks so much once again for taking the time to review. Your consideration means a lot to me.**

**Now, the next chapter that everyone has been waiting for...**

Three days of excruciating boredom later, Rylie is visited by John, who says she can visit Sherlock now. Hardly able to control her excitement, Rylie hobbles down many hallways until she arrives at a small room, a discreet one, with no nametag on the door. She guesses that Sherlock's kidnapping is being kept a secret from the general public.

John opens the little white door and beckons Rylie inside. Almost nervously, her tiny figure slips in. Inside, the room is very similar to Rylie's. White walls and surgically white lighting. A pale bed in the middle of the room. And in it, Sherlock is sitting, reading. His face is pale and his arm and leg are in casts, but other than that he appears to be in perfect health. No bruises.

"Hey..." Rylie feels almost shyer than she did when she first met the detective.

Sherlock puts down his book and looks at her. Piercing, calculating eyes. And then Rylie starts crying. Just out of the blue. Rylie never cries, not since she was really little and very depressed because of her twin's death.

"Thank you, Rylie." Sherlock gives her the first real, genuine smile she has ever seen him conjure onto his normally expressionless face. And she smiles back, the first smile that Sherlock has ever seen her make that is not shy or uncomfortable.

"Friends?" she asks stupidly. But since she has never really had a true friend, she isn't sure how to go about making one.

"Friends."

Then Rylie laughs through her tears.

"You better like me," she grins even wider, "And my crazy chemistry laboratory. I'm moving in with you two!"

Sherlock just nods and then goes back to reading, a ghost of a smile on his face. Rylie glances awkwardly at John. And Sherlock makes a dismissive gesture with his pale hand.

"I'm sure we can make accommodations to expand the laboratory equipment in the flat with Rylie's own, right, John?"

"Oh, joy."

Rylie and John exit the room and head down to the office where a doctor is waiting to remove Rylie's splint. After, they collect the few possessions she had and return to baker Street.

{~oOo~}

The rest of the day is spent moving all of Rylie's (penguin-decorated) possessions from her old flat into the new one she shares with Sherlock and John. Said doctor insists on helping her, sue to the fact that she only had her splints removed that morning.

"I can move my own things, John."

"You're ill."

"I was discharged from the hospital this morning. Therefore I no longer qualify as 'ill'."

"I'm still helping you."

"Have it your way, then."

Late into the evening, Rylie and John step back to admire their work. The room is painted an earthy brown by nature, with a bed and desk in matching hues (courtesy of Mrs. Hudson). Rylie's microscope and various test tubes and Bunsen Burners are set up on the desk, while all the other lab equipment she owns is stored away in the massive set of droors. A single photo hangs on the wall in a dark wooden picture frame. It is of Rylie's family before any of its members were ripped away; Mom, Dad, Annabell, Sarah and Rylie herself. Luke is absent, which cuts a little bit at Rylie's heart, because the photo was taken while he was still alive. This can only mean that her dead brother was the one taking it.

"He wanted to be a photographer when he grew up." Rylie whispers, a tear leaking out of the corner of her eye.

"He would have been a good photographer." John wraps his arm protectively around his friend as they stare up at the photograph together.

"I miss him. I wish I knew why he had to die that fatal night."

"We all do, Rylie. And some day, you'll find out. It'll happen when you aren't expecting it to. And maybe you'll be sorry you found out. But everyone has to find out at some point in their lives. Why don't we get a photograph of me, Sherlock and you to hang next to it?"

"That would be really nice. Like representing my two different families." She smiles a watery smile at him.

After they have finished with Rylie's room, John asks if she would like to come and watch television with him. However, she shakes her head.

"I'll make dinner tonight."

{~oOo~}

Later that evening, the two present tenants of Baker Street are feasting on peas, carrots, roast beef and tiramisu. The only thing missing is Sherlock Holmes.

**Yes, that was very fluffy. But I really enjoyed writing that bit where Rylie talks to John about Luke and him wanting to be a photographer. Do you think it was a good bit of character development? Please let me know via review!**

**BeautifulCrimsonChaos**


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